Lying to the World
by TriW0lf
Summary: She was a born liar. Ever since that fateful night she vowed revenge. However, her journey back is that of a different breed. Every day she woke up someone new, with a new personality and new families. Will she fulfill her goal with the help of the resist
1. Prologue

Prologue:

I remember sitting at our dining room table on Thanksgiving, almost twenty years ago. I was five and my older brother was nine. Things back then were so much simpler. Ricky, my brother, was telling my mother about a girl that he asked out, but she had said she had a dentist's appointment. "Ricky, you're much too young to handle dating." My mother recited, just as she had since he began this school year. "But mom! I'm almost ten! I don't have much longer before I have to start thinking about high school!" My father came into the room chuckling. "Now Ricky, calm your hormones and Eve, let's eat." My dad set the turkey down in the middle of the large table. I remember watching the candle flame dance across Ricky's face. I loved my brother, more than anything. I would never let anyone hurt him.

As the family ate, I prodded my mashed potatoes. They were unusually soft. I then foolishly spoke up. "Ricky?" He looked up from his turkey. "Yea?" I fiddled with my thumbs, "I think that girl lied to you." Ricky cracked a grin, his eyes flickering playfully, "Yea, I think so too." I smiled and took in the thought. With lying, you could get away with anything. Daddy lied to mom about working late. Mommy lied to dad about drinking that icky smelling water. Ricky even lied to me about that show he was watching. I needed to start lying too.

6 Years Later

Once again we were all crowded around the dining room table, enjoying Thanksgiving dinner. Ricky had his girlfriend, Liz over. Ricky was RJ now, because he said it made him sound more grown up. While Liz and RJ kissed across from me, Dad brought the turkey in. Uncle Steve made a scowling face at RJ as dad set the turkey down. "I miss mom." I said quietly. My mother had died two years ago from cancer and Uncle Steve came to fill the void. "Shut your mouth girl." Steve hissed at me and took a forkful of corn. My dad only sighed. RJ stuck his tongue out and played with his girlfriends hands. RJ didn't love me anymore. He would yell at me and tell me to go away. He wasn't there for me when I needed him most.

"So dad, I'm think about getting an internship at Steve's metal working plant." RJ spoke. Steve grinned and my dad only mumbled his congratulations. "RJ that is hard work." I said. RJ sneered at me, "No it isn't." he retorted. "Yes it is. Can't you see all of Uncle's scars?" RJ shook his head. "What? I am only looking out for you." I was eleven, I had no real troubles to be concerned with. Liz whispered in RJ's ear and he winked at her. "Well stop. I'm fifteen; I can take care of myself." RJ laughed and kept eating. "But you're my brother; we have to look out for each other!" I cried. "No. No we don't" RJ said in a monotone voice. I cried more. Steve took me out in the kitchen. "Shut up kid!" He yelled in a hushed tone. I didn't. Next thing I knew a large burly hand picked me up and threw me into the family room. I only remember the smell of blood.

That brings us to today. I am currently walking down the street to meet my friend. She is the only person I have let close to me. After almost fifteen years of changing my name, my face and everything about me, I am finally ready. For all these years I have lied. It is what makes me breathe. What wakes me up in the morning. What I live for. Lying is all I ever known, it has built my world and collapsed my world as well. For all these years, I woke up a new person and every day, I was lying to the world.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Elizabeth

The cold air stung my face as I fast walked down Freeman Avenue. The peddlers moving with a lethargic pace as a couple passed by hand in hand, how I envied them. I couldn't believe I was doing this. Fifteen years of running scared, of crying and screaming, of trying to make myself into someone I could love. A car flashed on my right and a fistful of wind hit my back. How could I really be doing this? Actually telling my story to someone; well, not just someone, Madison to be more exact. She lived on the east side of town, where the murders and rapes happened every night. I admire her bravery, because damn that girl had to have some to live where she did.

About a block from her door, a dark alley sat filled with screams. I wanted to help, I really did, but what could I do? Those men were bigger than me, they had guns and knives. I couldn't risk what I had for some petty jailbait. I must sound horrible, but I've found being honest, yet crude, helps more than lying about your real feelings. Who am I to be talking though, I am the epitome of liars. That jailbait was pretty, probably more beautiful than any of the actresses on the silver screen today. As I passed by, the men looked up from their victim. Blood was strewn across their hardened faces and suspicion laced their brow. I kept my head down, music up and only stopped to let a man pass by.

Ten minutes later I reached Madison's apartment complex. Barbed wire strung from the windows above and bullet holes rattled the front door. I knocked three times. The sound of aggravated animals bellowed through the walls before the land man came to unlock the door. As the mechanical clicks of the locks scratched my ears, a face popped in the crack of the safety locked door. "Can I help you?" An older man with a scruffy complex asked. I nodded, looking down at my ripped gloves. "Um, I am here to see Madison?" His eyes flickered with worry, but the door opened slowly. I can't say I look impressive. My worn trench coat, ripped gloves and army boots would be a dead give away for anyone to shoo me away. "You don't look like her normal clients." The man said, leading me up the creaky staircase. I was confused, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what he meant. I just never thought that any of my friends would end up in the dumps like me.

We finally reached Madison's room. Her door, unlike the rest on her floor, was painted black. The man grumbled slightly, whispering under his breath, "Damn whore." Too bad my sense of hearing was much keener than he thought. As the land man searched his key ring, I looked around. Paint chips fell from the wall and the lights flickered every time the train passed by. "Found it." The man said in a dark voice. The lock clicked open and he kicked the door open, breaking the safety lock off. "Daires, new client!" The man screamed as he walked out. I stood in the doorway, my re-dyed blond curls weighing down my already heavy head. "Yes sir, rent will be ready by tomorrow!" Madison shuffled in screaming. Her chestnut hair had lost its entire spark and her blue eyes were now framed with sorrow. "Hey" I whispered. She stared at me with disbelief as I fiddled with the hem of my muscle shirt. "Elizabeth?" Madison managed out, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. I only looked down before being hit with her whole body weight. "Hey to you too." She whispered back through sobbing.

Madison ran around like a mad woman, trying to make her small complex perfect. She was always gorgeous, but needed a better head on her shoulders. If I could have been there, I would have. The tea pot on the stove cried out loudly as the gunshots from below rang high and proud. "Please don't worry about that, Tom Frocks is just practicing for when the cops come by." I nodded, neither shocked nor angered by the remark. I was part of the rebellion too; I knew what it meant to live to die. To know that every day may be your last. Tom was one of the more trusted men in our community; he was one of my good friends also. I never let Madison know this. "So what brings you around these parts?' Madison asked while pouring the steaming tea into my cup. Her forehead creased with sadness, 'No one should be here." She finished. I played with my cup handle, "you're right Madison, and no one should.' She knew my comment was directed at her, 'But I needed to talk to you before the uprising."

Madison looked at me with curiosity before I explained. "I am part of the uprising against Senator Michaels. Steve Michaels." She looked at me, just like she would have looked at one of the jerks who took a part of her soul every night. "Don't look at me like that Madison." I sighed, my knee bulging through my ripped jeans. She shook her head. "First, tell me why you want to kill Senator Michaels." Was the only thing Madison could say to me. I knew she was scared for me, I knew that at any moment, I could be shot in front of her or lugged off to jail. I didn't care. "That would take a long time Madison." I let out a husky chuckle. These years have aged me so. "You are only twenty six. Do not tell me you just want to risk your young life for this. You haven't lived long enough to see what was before." Madison was about six years older than me. "Then I will start from the beginning. I will tell you why I hate Steve Michaels, and why I am not really Elizabeth."


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Stacy

I don't think I have ever seen a blank face like Madison's. It was like a child was just raped in front of her and then the world exploded into small pieces. She was completely impassive. The past silent creaks of the apartment complex now echoed in my brain, while the gun shots from below rumbled the floor. "Madison?" I squeaked. I didn't know if what I wanted to say actually came out. I waved my hand across the air in front of Madison's face before she grabbed my wrist. "You're a damn liar." She spit. Her normal hazy azure eyes turned dark as a black hole. My wrist was aching as her grip on my wrist tightened. "I'm not lying Madison. I'm not who I say I am." Wow, I couldn't believe that I admitted that. The scars from our last protest bulged beneath her bony fingers. Why was she so angry about this? I could only sit and wait for Madison to let go. Yet I knew that as stubborn as Madison is, she would crack if I told her my story.

I breathed in a deep sigh. "It started when I was eleven. You might remember the story in the paper?" I said. Madison was narrowing her eyes. "The story about the eleven year old girl who wound up in a three year coma?" The news headline flashed across my mind. I don't think I was ever as scared as I was that day. "Yes." I mumbled. Madison adjusted her sitting so that her hand could easily reach out to comfort me at any minute. Madison knew the story; she knew it too well in fact. Her dad was my dad's boss.

"I know you visited me in the hospital." I started out. Those three years of blackness and hushed sentences were so haunting. It was like a mystical dream, which I could never wake up from. "I heard every word you said. You're seventeen years of experience echoed in the hallows of my mind." I saw the memories flashing across her head, she remembered. I know she did, because I remember. I recall her lips pressing to my forehead, leaving tiny indents. I flashback to her head on my chest, crying through raspy screams. I still see her blue eyes, the first I saw after three years of darkness. "That's when I changed." Was all I could say.

The day I woke up was the fifth of November. How ironic. I awoke to Madison's blue eyes as a police siren wailed out the window. "Is he dead?" I ask quietly. I think about my father, not the monster that put me in this mess. "No. Steve isn't." Was all she could respond. I don't stop breathing until she says that RJ was off to college and my father was in a mental hospital. After that thanksgiving night, my father broke inside. "Elizabeth?" That is what Madison called me by. She only knew me as my mother's name, not my real one. "Yea?" I whispered. Her eyes started to tear up again. I could only watch as this nearly twenty something woman broke down in front of me, hell, I was an eleven year old trapped in a fourteen year olds body. "I thought you were going to die!" She wailed out at me. I just blinked as a knock sounded at the door. Two large men in black suits walked in. This was just too surreal. My father couldn't care for me, RJ was trying to get ahead and Steve, well, I would probably stab him in the trachea if I saw him. "Miss…." One of the men asked, obviously confused on my title. "Stacy. Stacy Brooks." Madison just stared at me like I had four eyes. "Right. Miss Brooks, we are from your father's office. We have someone to take care of you. He is out in the hall now." The men knew I was Matt Brook's daughter, they didn't know I wasn't Stacy though. "Send him in." I said, with a flick of my wrist.

"Wait a minute. You really did say those things? I wasn't dreaming?" Madison interrupted. "Yes Madison. Now please, be quiet." I said, lighting a cigarette.

"Miss Brooks, this is Sergeant Addams. He will be your new father." The other man firmly stated. I gave the 'new dad', a death glare. He looked at me in pity. I didn't need pity. I needed someone to buy me clothes and food, so I could run away. However, this guy looked like he had a different plan. "Stacy? I am Sergeant Addams. As soon as the doctors bring your forms, I will be able to take you home." This guy was fucking insane. Take me home? Home is in the suburbs of LA, I wasn't going home. He was going to take me to some horribly clean military based theme park filled with ways to torture me. I still glared at him, but gave up. I would need to train if I was ever going to deal with Steve. "Fine. Tell the doctors I am ready." I said, rolling onto my side.

The smell of blood still stained my nostrils, as Sergeant Ass-eyes drove me about two hundred miles out of LA. As soon as I announced I was ready, they brought the forms, took out my feeding tube and all that other junk and sent me packing, away from Madison, away from my father, away from RJ, and more importantly, farther away from my target. 'Dad', had one other foster child, Chad or something. He lived in a northern Californian beach house, provided with an AK-47 and private shooting grounds. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as I thought.

I don't think Ass-eyes realized what I was shooting at. The pistol went of six times as gun smoke filled my senses. Six months of militaristic training with possibly the coolest Uncle ever did that to me. I was sitting in a shooting range, right in the back yard of my house, imagining that the targets head was Steve's. Of course, when I really did the deed, there wouldn't be foam pieces everywhere, oh no, it would be blood and brains, spattered across the white walls where I trap him. I could just taste the fury on the tip of my tongue as I shot four more times. "Dammed gun." I hissed. Uncle Ass-eyes forgot to get more cartridges this morning. I threw the pistol down as Chad fired his final seven shots. There was no doubt, for a 'step-brother', who was seventeen, Chad was a killer. His jet black hair shaded his eyes from the world, and if you could get close enough, you could see through his chocolate eyes into the very depths of death. I liked Chad to say the least.

"So, what's got you panties in a bunch?" Chad asks, loading our dishes simultaneously. "Fuck you." I spat. He only laughed and shut the door with his foot. "Dad says he will be gone for the next week." Chad shouted as he walked into the foyer. Perfect. This would be the best chance to escape. After six months, I knew I needed to start making my way back to LA, back to vengeance. I walked into my second story room, which overlooked the turning tide. Whoever said youth was beauty was dead wrong. I had scars down my back from the glass and newly healed scars from the nightly thrashings. No, Uncle Ass-eyes didn't beat me, but after the entire trauma I suffered, it was only normal that I awoke outside nearly drowning, right? I'm not being over dramatic, but it was true. "Chad?" I called, throwing my nearly full duffel bag into my closet. I could tell he could hear the nerves in my voice, because within five seconds he came bounding up the stairs, holding his holster. "Who the fuck is trying to break in!?" He shouted, getting ready to pull his custom glock on me. I held my hands up in innocence. "Whoa buddy. Chill out before you get popped in the face." He laughed at my gangster attempt, although the fear still shone in his pupils as I reached into my waistband. "Anyone ever told you that for a girl, you are really manly?" He laughed, shaking the drowsy out of his head. "Yea and anyone told you that for a guy, you're a real pussy?" I chuckled. He mimicked my laugh and sat down on my bed. "What did you need Stacy?" His phone went off in his pocket, signaling a text. "Chad, look at me." I only got a slight groan as he texted whoever back. "Chad, this is serious." I said, leaning against my windowsill. I sure would miss this place. "What Stacy? It isn't like you're running away or anything."

"You have to be shitting me!" Chad screamed as I loaded my duffel bag into my black truck. "What Chad? You expect me to sit here and let this man who fucked me out of three years of my life, just keep living?" The passive tone in my voice must have given him realization, because soon he was hugging me. "No, no Stacy I don't. I don't expect you to live a perfect life with Dad and me and continue everything good you have for you. Go get him kid." Chad sniffed and patted my back. I threw a few extra cartridges in my passenger seat, along with a few assorted knives and the new sniper rifle Uncle Ass-Eyes had given me for Christmas. I guess you could call me abnormal. Yet, when you have a military man for a supposed father and you are hell bent on killing, guns are the perfect birthday and Christmas gifts. Hell, I even helped customize Chad's and I matching glocks. As I started out the driveway, I saw Chad sprinting towards me.

Soon I felt strong arms wrap around my neck through my window. "Damnit Chad, I thought you said you wouldn't cry!" I said, sorrow laced in my tone. He sniffed and lifted his forehead to mine. "Look baby sis. Even though we have only been family for six months, you still are the best family since dad. Here,' He handed me a cell phone,' It is the latest military phone on the black market. It's so we can stay in touch. I don't care how far you are, or how many years we are apart, you have to call at least once a week." He rubbed his eyes and stood on the running board of my truck. I was touched, he was like RJ but, he stayed true. My head fell, blonde tresses curtaining my view. "Of course Chad, every week. Maybe if you grew some balls and decide to come find me one day, I might call every day." I tried to make that come out strong, but my voice cracked weakly. All Chad did was smirk as I pulled into the street and out on my quest. To this day, I still keep that promise.

Madison let her jaw drop as I smashed the cigarette on her floor boards. "Gruesome as you expected? Because there is more to come, love." I hummed as Madison's eyes flashed with hunger.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Leigh 

"One of these days, you're going to die." Madison whispered as I lit another cigarette from the KOOL box. As I reached down to flick the ash off my boot, Madison swiped the new stick from my mouth. "Now damnit girl, no more smoking." She scolded, throwing the sweet taste of familiarity out the window. The clock next to her couch ticked loudly, signaling the passing uncomfortable seconds. "Do you want to hear the rest?" My voice sounded weak, crap. "Well, I'm not sure Elizabeth." The venom was quite present in my name. I never thought that the woman I trusted for nineteen years was turning on me. She didn't know how many I had to kill after I told them this story. She is damn lucky I don't pull my glock on her right now and blast her pretty blue eyes out.

Wait, I need to calm down. I would feel the same way if someone lied to me for nearly our entire friendship. Ok, breathe in and let it out.

She knew that there was more, I could see her arm shaking with intensity. It was Madison's thing. If she got nervous or hyped up, her arm would quiver uncontrollably. It was always the sign for me to turn around and leave. Not this time though. Not again.

"I drove fifty or so miles out of the town. No idea where I would go." Madison sat back in her infested couch. With a pass of her arm, I was given permission to continue.

My truck sputtered to a stop as I killed the engine on a run down road. The Californian stars gleamed down and reflected on the hood of my vehicle. "Shit." I cursed, slamming my head on the leather steering wheel. My phone vibrated in my cargo pocket. Four missed messages and an incoming call. I had to think fast… masking my voice may be the best option here. "Hello?" I left out a heated raspy greeting. The line whirled with background sounds of screaming and crying. "Fourth Night?" The voice asked on the other line. Thank god Sergeant Ass-eyes gave us all call names, in case something, well, semi near to this situation occurred. "Chad, what the hell?" I could hear Serge screaming from out his door. "Stacy, you have to keep going. They are sending the cops after you." I looked around, of course, a fourteen year old girl, driving illegally with a bag of clothes and bunches of guns wouldn't look suspicious. "Chad I can't. Engine just died from lack of fuel." He must have sensed the panic in my voice. Hell, I could feel the bile rising in my throat. "Stacy, ditch the truck. Now." I heard pounding as burly male voices scattered my ear. "Go. Find somewhere!" I heard Chad's shout ring through the masculine war cries.

I had no choice but to leave my truck on the side of the dirt road. Everything was cleaned with disinfectant wipes as I grabbed all that I had to my name. I couldn't hear the ocean anymore, which meant I was either close to the mountains or barely in land. Neither helped my case. The nip of a spring wind bit my face as I searched for a camp. Nothing.

Without being able to walk any further, I collapsed under a bridge on the highway. It wasn't loud at two in the morning, but still, the zooms overhead still had me clutching to my shiv for dear life. I think since those nights spent under the highway, any silence prior to unconsciousness, rocks me into serenity.

Three weeks after jumping from highway bridge to highway bridge, I wandered into a local market. Signs of missing children, homeless shelters and flea markets littered the automatic door. "Hola senorita, como estas?" A worker walked up to me. "Uh, what?" I probably looked like a very hot pedophile, but I don't understand Spanish. The worker looked at me like I was insane and walked away. Everything in this store was Spanish… son of a bitch.

As I walked up and down the aisles, people offered to carry my basket and handed me homeless shelter flyers. Did I really look that bad? I picked up some rice looking stuff, beans and a few fresh vegetables. I searched my back jean pocket for seven dollars to pay for everything. Money was hard to find, so if anyone needed odd jobs, I did them, no matter how terrible. One time, I had to install some old woman's chimney cap. I sat on the roof for about an hour and after four hours in the hot sun; the work was finally done, with fifty dollars in my hand I might add.

I put my food on the cash register and waited for the woman to ring me. She didn't look Hispanic whatsoever. "You're English aren't you?" I asked, shuffling my feet. The woman looked up, her styled hair flopping over her left eye. "Yup, how did you know?" She asked, her perky smile flashing me. Oh, I could only imagine. I only grinned. "Oh yah, that's right. Perky emo girl with flashy hair, duh." The beep of the items running over the scanner rang across the empty market. "Listen.' She rung up the total on the screen and I reached for my back pocket, seven dollars and fifteen cents, just like I predicted, 'This one is on me, but only if you promise to wait here for ten more minutes and let me take you to the shelter my family owns." I let my jaw drop; you have got to be kidding me. "I can't, really." Fumbling across my words wasn't the best sign of rejection. "Why not? Please, at least you can get a good meal and shower." She laughed as her name tag bobbled. Sam. Well, that is an interesting name. "You have a boy's name." I observed quietly. She looked down and smiled, "Oh yea. Sam, by the way, and you are?" I stopped and let the recent wanted posters shuffle across my mind. Lauren, no. Liam, nah. Lily, nada. Leigh… ok. "Leigh" I simply put, sitting at the chair across from her check out station.

"Make a left here." I said, taking Sam to my latest bridge. I saw the entrance to my makeshift bed. "Stop here." I pointed to the gravel patch, where cops sat to catch speeders. "Why here?" She asked, shutting the car off and running to open my door. I motioned for her to follow, as I gripped my shiv, letting the cold metal rub against my thigh. I stopped right before the opening and stepped on the trap rope, setting off a homemade bear trap of knives. "Damn girl, enough protection?" Sam asked, enthralled with my knife collection as I scooped up my bad and disassembled the trap. "I don't trust people very much." I muttered, slinging the bag over my broken shoulder. Yes, I forgot to mention, working on a roof all day makes you thirsty, in which you become dehydrated and think that just because you have perfect aim and bunches of weapons, that you are suddenly Superman. "So I've noticed." She let her voice trail off as she grabbed my bag and hoisted it into the back of her Escalade.

"So Leigh, why homeless at, what fifteen?" She tried to make a stab in the dark about my age. I shifted uncomfortably, pressing my cheek against the glass again. "Fourteen. And I have my reasons." I stated coldly. The rest of the drive to the shelter was silent.

I entered the home, letting the warmth hit my face. This was once what I felt everyday; love. Sam took my wrist delicately and led me to he parents, who sat in an office, laughing and drinking what smelled of Scotch. My favorite. "Mom, dad, this is Leigh. She is, well, homeless, and I was hoping we could take care of her." Sam made her request polite and quiet, more like a request to buy a new violin, rather than bring a dirty homeless teenager to live with them. Her father peered at me over the glass, eyes dancing with sorrow. I hated him for that. "Of course dear, just take her up and have her settled in the guest room." Her mother spoke, gently touching my forearm. I flinched at her contact, although it was a motion of kindness. Sam nodded happily and skipped off to take me upstairs.

Sam set my bag on the mahogany desk, laying down my jacket on the bed. "You lied to me." I spoke, holding myself in the doorway. She knew she did. I had something she wanted, guns, ammo, knives, protection, love? Whatever it was, this wasn't a homeless shelter, it was a high class mansion. Sam straightened out the pillows and came over to tug on my cuffs. "I just… didn't tell you fully that we don't run this as a shelter full time?" She tried to pass the excuse. I didn't care; I was living a whole lie in front of her. "It's alright, I don't mind." I responded with a sigh. Sam buried her head in my chest, sniffling. Why was this girl crying? "I just… I know who you are… and-and I know what you have been through and why you ran.' She buried her head further into my chest, as exotic scents flooded my nasal passage. 'I know you will run again, but please, stay for a few days. Get some money and clothes and showers and go. But please, just for a few days, be my sister? Be my friend if you can't fulfill the family attachment." All I could do was kiss the top of her head and let her lead me to the scalding shower.

I stayed. Damnit, I stayed. For almost nineteen days, I sat, taking their food, money, clothing and water. I was their pet to take care of. They were my rescuers, or so they thought. Sam came in every night at midnight to unlock the windows, kiss my cheek and whisper goodbye. Yet every morning, she would walk in, lie down next to me, play with my hair and say, thank god. I couldn't leave her; it would crush everything she knew. This place was making me soft. Damn was it ever. One sunny morning, I started out a plan to go. That night, after I bought more ammo and a new truck, I would leave. Sam's parents were billionaires. They offered any car in the world and any designer brand I wanted. I couldn't take it though.

That day Sam accompanied me to the car dealership. "Oh, this one matches your eyes." She squealed as I shoved my hands in my pockets. I didn't need much, just a simple get away car. "Leigh?" Sam piped up behind me in the truck. "Yes?" I answered back, almost as eager. "How are you driving, if you have no license or permit?" She asked the dreaded question. Of course the answer was illegally, but I didn't really want to say that. "Is this the one?" The mustached dealer came by, rapping on the window. Sam looked from him to me and nodded, handing the man a credit card. "Won't your parents be mad?" I asked, hoping to change the subject. It didn't work. "No, but they will be if you don't at least get a permit." The man came back and handed over the keys, as I started up the new truck. "Leigh, go left now." Sam commanded, squeezing my shoulder. I did as she commanded, even though I knew the gun store was straight ahead.

My foot jittered as Sam talked to one of the cops she knew. Their muffled whispers were resonating throughout the test center as the other cops shared stories from the day. We were already here for almost an hour, far longer than I wanted to be there. "Leigh, Brooks? We are ready." The cop called and Sam gave me a thumbs up. I never questioned how she got me an opportunity without any of my paperwork present; you just never ask with rich people. "Sit down and just press C and A for each alternating question." The cop whispered, turning on the test monitor. I did as he was told. Next thing I knew, a bright flash went off, and I had a permit, with a secret endorsement that allowed me to drive alone at night only.

"Sam?" I said opening the gun shop door. She looked up from the 9mm collections. "Yes?" Her eyes as wide as deer's. I couldn't help but chuckle. "You can wait in the car if this freaks you out." I offered, heading to meet the clerk. "No, no. This is your life Leigh and even though it is horribly scary, I want to be apart of it." I nodded and selected a seven month ammo package and a brand new, top line sniper. The cash register rang and Sam, per usual, handed over her plastic. As I waited for the clerk to go to the back for my ammo, I felt small arms wrap around the upper portion of my stomach. Although Sam was shorter than me, I could still feel her warm breath stinging my neck. She leaned up to my ear and whispered, "Promise me you will kill Steve Michaels." I turned around, grasping her tiny arms, which made me feel like a criminal. "How?" I asked, a new passion burning in my soul. Sam shook her head, but wouldn't tell. The cashier returned and began to bag my ammo. We took off in comfortable silence for her home.

I dropped her off at the back door and helped her out of the truck. Before I knew it, I was embraced for the strongest hug of my life. She choked out sobs, mixed with choppy sentences. I could have sworn she said something about my lies as well. I hugged her back and let her saunter over to the back door. I turned around on a dime, standing down from her like an old western fight. "Forget about me Sam, please. It's what I deserve." It was true; I couldn't ruin this perfect girl's life. She had so much going for her. I stood downhill, tear threatening to spill. Before I knew it, we were toe to toe and she was lifting up my chin. "Come back to me alive." Was all Sam said, as she walked into the house and I never saw her again.

Madison's spine stiffened immensely. "What happened?" Her tiny voice called out. I sighed, rewrapping the bandages on my hand. I became involved with the bandages, winding and turning, healing yet binding. "Steve shot her three days later."


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Viola 

I fiddled with the button on my trench coat. This was hard. I loved Sam so much, not in the way you may think. Chad and she was the most trusted people in my life, family of the closest kind. I had never talked to anyone, not even Sam's parents, about our escapades. She saved me. Saved me from a world I was otherwise damned to drown in. If I could dig deeper into my mind I would, but I had to finish my story. "Do you have any scotch?" I asked, loosing my scarf's death grip on my neck. Madison just nodded and shuffled off to the kitchen. I heard the clatter of hollow glasses. She would never know. Ever. Even though I was telling her my story, some of those things are just too personal. My mind began to flashback.

"Leigh, please don't leave me." She pleaded. I had never left like I told Madison. "What Sam? What do you want me to do? You know what I am, and what I need to do!" I was screaming on her front lawn. I saw fear pass over her eyes, then become washed away with weariness and some sorrow. "Go then Leigh. Just, let me go." She sighed, turning into her front door. I heard screams bellow from the top of the stairs and padding as two people raced down the stairs. I panicked and took off. I left one of the closest people in my life because she was playing hot and cold. To stay or not to stay. My conflicted mind was on overload. Before I got far away, I pulled over to pull out a bottle of whisky. Drowning my sorrow in the fiery alcohol calmed me. "Damn glove box." I muttered, digging through the bills and gun licenses. A piece of metal cut me. "What the hell!" I screamed, sucking the blood off my finger. The piece of metal belonged to a pendant tied around a rolled letter. 'To my forever savior' was all that was on the front. Gently, I unrolled the parchment to reveal a letter. My eyes ran over the print, until certain lines caught my attention. "I don't know how I can ever thank you for your mission to kill the man who raped me. Leigh, even though that isn't your name, I need you to know how important you are to me. I realize now that if you could stay with me, there would be something to live for. I can't feel my mind from the numbness of the haunting memories. When you kill Steve, tell him that I'll meet him in hell. Don't make me wait long. Goodbye."

"Elizabeth?" Madison snapped her fingers in front of my face. "Huh?" I asked, pulling myself from the brink of tears. "Rocks or no?" I shrugged and hunched over. I let my heavy head fall to my hands, letting my heavy heart spill over. "So, there is more?" I nodded, scraping my scalp as I sat up. "Elizabeth, if you want to stop—" Madison didn't continue as I shushed her and began once more.

I drove for twenty miles before I was pulled over for speeding, sixty in a twenty five zone, so bad ass. "Miss?" The police man ran his flashlight in my truck, obviously spotting the glock in my boxer's waistband and duffel bag filled with ammo. "Can I see your license please?" He asked, face chiseled like stone. I reached in the glove box, avoiding the pendant which stabbed me earlier. "Here." As I handed over the card, blood began to trickle down my hand. "Ok miss. You're good." I nodded and got ready to go again. "You're bleeding." He squirmed, utterly disgusted by that fact. I looked down and back up in his shining green eyes. It felt like an eternity. "Do you need an escort to the hospital, Miss… uh?" He fumbled over my name. Shit. My card has no last name. "Viola Canasta." He nodded, as I turned downed the classical music blaring from the radio. That was just a made up on the spot name. "Well, Viola, would you like a ride to the ER?" Officer Daniels asked. He must have thought he was getting lucky. I roared my engine back to life. "Not tonight buddy." I husked as I winked and took off, leaving him in my dust.

Lights flashed as I entered the city of Bakersfield. I was getting close. Neon lights flashed outside of tattoo parlors and strip clubs. I pulled into a Wal Mart parking lot, filled with several people walking around half clothed or half sane. I clicked the lock button four times before passing through the automatic doors into the bright florescent lights. I looked around. This was unfamiliar territory for me. I passed down each aisle, looking for what I wanted. Febreeze, no. Ear plugs, no. Hair Products, yes! I walked down and stopped in front of the dye. Red or black, red or black? Well, I had enough money for both, so I bought both. I needed a new identity.

I applied the black dye to my hair in the Wal Mart bathroom and drove to a tattoo parlor next. Drastic was my new middle name. An twenty something artist with red hair greeted me. "Miss, you eighteen?" I shook my head, but bribed him into giving me a tattoo. "Thirty dollars extra." I offered, lifting up my under shirt, exposing the throbbing veins on my pale skin. He looked into what might have been the boss' offices and came back out with a needle and ink. "What do you want?"

"Is it finished Charlie?" I asked from beneath the hymn of the needle. Charlie, the artist, was working at a pain staking slow pace. Before we began the tattoo of the black and white lettering, he said that it would hurt, but he wanted to make it perfect. Charlie told me the story of his first tattoo and how he ran away from home. Now, his perfectly shaped biceps were littered with mystical symbols and beautiful art. Through his wife beater, I could barely make out the word, "Seppuku", as his breathes expanded his abs. My letters would turn out with the bitter sweet beauty that I wanted. "Almost done." Charlie bit through his teeth as he wiped away the blood and ink on my arm.

The mirror didn't make the image nearly as magnificent as real life, but I just wanted to see my reflection. The red streak in my black bangs fell just below my nose and the veins pulsed against the marble color of my skin. My tight jeans and worn t shirt complemented my figure, letting the right bumps and curves shine through. "It's a beut Miss Viola." Charlie nodded, wiping his hands on a black cloth. He placed his strong arms around me in a reverse hug. His hot breath tickled my ear lobe as he leaned in. What the hell is wrong with men? Despite the god that was holding me in protection, my mind flashed back to Sam, her slim arms that fit just right around me. I missed her so much. "Why did you choose 'Lie to Me', Miss Viola?" He asked, brushing his lips against the hollow of my neck. Shivers ran up my spine. "I uh don't – know." I sucked in through the tensioned air. The downfall of being nearly sixteen, hormones. Anyone, and do I mean anyone, could get your gears grinding if they knew how to move, how to touch, how to whisper. Damn sex appeal was a curse. I felt Charlie's lips roll down my neck, placing gentle marks on my collar bone. I was left standing their, watching this figure, which I didn't even know, turn me on, while looking at my reflection. My eyes flashed from a sea foam color to a color of burning passion. Charlie nipped at my pulse point. A whimper lodged in my throat. "Charlie, st—stop." I managed out, shaking the distraction from my head. He stood there, limp in front of the mirror. I stepped back, shaking from arousal. "Shit. Shit, you're a minor." He accused, keeping his styled red hair facing the floor. "I'm going to lose everything." Charlie was trembling now.

Soon the tears began to spill. This world, filled with evil, had everyone hurting, everyone scared. I picked up my bag, dropping eighty five dollars on the ground at Charlie's feet. "I can't! Johnny needs an operation. Please Miss Viola." He was breaking down in a fit of apologies and regret. Despite this all, I wanted him so bad. I wanted him to hold me, kiss me and make me feel like I was worth something. Charlie collapsed in the money, shaking out the tears through his fingers. The last thing I saw before I left was the tattoo of a rose, which crawled around his shoulder and up his neck.

After that night, I was paralyzed. I sat in my truck, living on whiskey and bread. My appetite and will to live was gone. I didn't know why. Maybe it was the fact that I was always alone. Maybe it was the fact that I was becoming just like Steve. I wasn't sure, but for two and a half months I sat in that truck everyday, contemplating, whittling away at one of my t shirts. I was close, so close, maybe seventy or so miles away. However, distractions caught me every time. The tattoo on my arm jumped out at me every day, gaining more and more meaning. I lost everything. My knives were sharp as ever and my guns were gathering dust. There was nothing to do, nothing to cut but my own skin, however, the sight of my blood, scared me into submission. Thank god for my squeamish qualities.

Around October I needed more whisky. That day I decided to finally start up the truck again and drive into town. I passed a liquor store and parked about a block away. I put the glock in my waistband and pulled the hood to my black hoodie over my head and walked into the corner store. Another man stood looking over the selections of vodka in the freezer. He seemed to be in deep thought. "Need help?" I asked, standing next to the mystery man, scanning the whiskey selection. His impassive voice echoed in my ears. "Viola correct? Charlie spoke to me about you." I was surprised, but stayed unmoved by his words. "Roulette is the best." I offered and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels. Before getting to the front, I whipped out the gun. "Get on the ground!" I shouted at the cashier. He reached under the counter for what I could expect as a rifle. A bullet whizzed past his ear, slicing some of his head. "Do as the woman says." The mystery man whispered. He held a smoking revolver in his right hand, a bottle of clear treasure in the other. The cashier let his eyes boggle and he stepped to his knees. I sauntered over to the counter and peered at the man. He was about to pull out his cell phone. "I would not do that." I sneered, yet the cashier still whipped out the phone. I did the first thing that came to mind. I shot his hand clear off.

The sirens roared in my ears as the mystery man led me to a hideout. I followed his dead black BMW down the highway. Blood spattered across my cheeks as I looked into the rearview mirror, where red and blue flashed across the horizon.

A few sharp turns and skipped red lights later; the mystery man was stepping out of his BMW and towards a cliff edge. I grabbed the Jack Daniels and followed him to the precipice. "You did well, but you should have killed him." The man scorned, chugging a mouthful of vodka. I took a swig of whiskey before responding. "I can't believe I did that. I'm only fifteen, I'm going to jail." I mourned as the whiskey sputtered over the edges. The mystery man turned to me, his goatee and shaven head standing out. "You will not go to jail." He said, turning back to the reflecting sea. I shook my head and took another gulp. "Listen, you may be physically fifteen, but you are aged by vengeance beyond your years." The man whispered, the stench of alcohol falling down wind. I sat down on the edge, letting the rock scrape through my tattered jeans. The mystery man leaned over me, offering a hand. "I am Mr. V. Known as nothing more, nothing less." I grasped his hand and wobbled to a stance. "Viola" I responded. The glint of Mr. V's pure white, sharpened teeth glinted in the moonlight. "No you're not." He responded, cockiness layered thickly. "That is my current alias." I conformed, letting my guard drop. Then Mr. V handed me a card. "Three o' clock AM tomorrow. Meet here. Bring Roulette." He said as he walked over to the car.

"Mr. V? As in the mayor, Mr. Vilindowske?" I shook my head as Madison tried to guess. "Hell I don't know Madison." I raked my nails over the tattoo as the story continued itself.

The card felt heavy in my hands as I weighed whether or not to go. The neon green numbers flashed a bright two fifty five AM. I sat at the abyss, waiting. My guns safety lock was off and ready to shoot if Mr. V attempted anything funny. Behind me, branches cracked and leaves rustled. I shot up, searching the dark bushes. "Miss Viola, welcome." Mr. V addressed as another man followed suit. "Viola, this is Jason. He is here for your assistance." Mr. V stepped aside and let the tall, skinny man step forward. His hair barely brushed his shoulder and even in the night, his honey golden eyes sparkled. "Miss Viola, I am Jason Knight." He bowed before me. This was just too weird. Mr. V soon spoke up to explain. "Jason is the owner of a local S and M club. It is one of the most popular underground scenes. Recently, a group of local thugs, primarily known as the Leaders, have been coming in and starting violent protests.' Jason tensed and his body language signaled hatred, 'they are a group of higher political rulers who decided that money; well, they believe it is only meant for the 'pure." Jason sneered, baring his teeth. My fists clenched. Jason now spoke up. "I need your assistance. I would like to hire you for two weeks, then, on a specific night, I will require you to kill the key person in the Leaders." I only nodded, grasping the cold steel in my hand tightly.

I bowed my head. Mr. V stepped to my side. "I know you are conflicted child.' His hand fell hard on my shoulder, 'but this is for the greater good of our colony. These, Leaders, are destroying individuality. Jason wants you to end suppression. Set the low free, allow us to breathe." Jason stood on the precipice also, wind picking up his jacket corners. My decision was already made, but I knew that it was a heavy thought one at that. I would have to live with the blood of another, possibly innocent man, on my hands forever. "I will do it." I let out, taking Mr. V's hand in mine. He looked in my eyes, feeling as though he stole my soul. "Tomorrow, we will take you for your equipment and initiation. Welcome to the Undead." Mr. V had allowed me into the crew of assassins who ruled the city. I had to prove myself. Jason allowed me to stand next to him. "I want freedom. I want to feel soulless and true. I want to kill." I whispered, as Jason only looked over the edge. I did the same. "Viola that is everyone's wish. It is only up to us to restore their strive for that wish." I lifted my foot over the edge and kicked a chunk of rocks down the side. I never saw them hit.

"You kill people?" Madison sat wide eyes, hidden in the shadow. I leaned back, stretching my arms up. "Only for fun."


End file.
